ISSN: 1941-4137
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
POETRY THAT ENACTS THE ARTISTIC AND CREATIVE PURITY OF GLASS
Andrea Spofford writes poems and essays, some of which can be found or are forthcoming in Cimarron Review, The Account, inter|rupture, New South, The Portland Review, Sugar House Review, Revolver, Vela Magazine, Puerto del Sol, and more. A native Californian transplanted to the South, Andrea is the author of four chapbooks, one full-length collection, and poetry editor at Zone 3 Press.
Stephanie Bryant Anderson earned her B.S. in English and Psychology from Austin Peay State University. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Passages North, Birmingham Poetry Review, Mid-American Review and others. Her chapbook Monozygotic | Codependent (2015) is available from The Blue Hour Press. Currently Stephanie is completing an M.S. in Mental Health Counseling.
Dead Wagon
Who picks up the dead-woman bodies? Ones with antlers or hooves,
feathered, or the occasional domestic with a fox trot & pierced ears
who belongs to some family down the road — the carcass
weighing as much as the buzzards pulling from it.
Waking from their bodies, they want air, not knowing
they’re dead. Inside cuts: a bowl of apples & rain,
clothes, mildewed & left in the washer, an atlas of blue veins,
moon craters, yellow curtains & hinges all weep from small openings
—their heads crowning.
She is one-half woman & one-half man, blue lips dissolving into rain,
the bluebird that flies from her mouth. She is telling you to float, her
bones laid end to end —dreams rolling like marbles across road.
When you blink, she is gone. A fox in a made-up field. A wink
against night’s backdrop. This is what happens when we make woman
animal, conflating two un/like things. She’ll walk the edge of the road,
shoulder, camouflaged in black feathers, the white stripe of a skunk, a bear’s
clicking nails. She’s not fox nor hound, a collection of halved pieces and marbles.
She’s strung with Spanish moss, caught inside a hail storm, a Perseid shower,
clothes fur and scales, blood only a map of stars,
a crater in Nevada the size of a small town. When she drops
she’ll be gathered, whole or incomplete,
in body and in name.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
All contents © the author.
All contents © the author.
